


That Perfect Someone

by TheLoneRaven909



Category: OFF (Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Child Abuse, Fluff, Implied Sexual Abuse, M/M, Multi, Substance Abuse, Triggers, implied rape, parental abusers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:47:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLoneRaven909/pseuds/TheLoneRaven909
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Tuesdays, you see Lucy, your councilor.  She asks you all these questions, and it’s not like you don’t trust her, but dad told you that your life is a secret place, that only one special person in your heart should know about it. So you lie to Lucy whenever she asks who hits you. You tell her that it’s just from sports. Later, to prove that point, you joined the soccer team. It’s pretty fun, and a good excuse. You skin your knees and get plenty of bruises from the sport.  Lucy can tell when you lie though, and it seems like she pities you a lot. You don’t blame her. Sometimes you wonder who this special person will be, if anyone. You don’t think you’ll find them anytime soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a piece i've been dabbling with for a few years now. OFF is a huge comfort for me, and i really love writing about batteur/from his perspective. I'll update whenever ideas come to me, but it probably won't be too often.  
> There's abuse and violence involved, keep that in mind, but otherwise, enjoy!

You'd given up on being saved a long time ago.  
After mom left when you were what, seven?, dad seemed to give up too. He quit his job and secluded himself in your little cabin in the woods. It took a year or two for the land to get recalled and you were kicked out. That was around the time he started beating you. You don't blame him, though. Mom had wanted someone so much better than the child she got. You're dyslexic, or at least you think you are. Your dad never tried to take you to a therapist or doctor about it, but you mispronounce things a lot, and reading is really hard for you. It's not super bad, which you're thankful for. You can read most of the time, but reading out loud is pretty much impossible. Mom had wanted the perfect kid; blonde hair, blue eyes, tall, thin. An athlete. You? Well.. you're brown haired, green eyed, short, pudgy, and prefer playing video games. And mom hated you for it.

After a couple weeks living on the streets of Michigan, you turned fifteen. There wasn't a party. Dad didn't remember. It rained that day, actually. After that, you started picking up odd jobs. Mowing lawns, walking pets. Sometimes dad made you do these...other jobs too, but you don't talk about those. Anyway, after a rough month, you scraped up enough money for an apartment. Rent was really cheap, $100 a month, and dad seemed pretty pleased. He let you be that night. Nothing's really changed since, besides maybe getting a laptop from your best friend Sam and enrolling in school. Apparently mom sent a letter for child support and told dad that you needed to get an education. Whatever. Why would she care about you anymore? But you listened, and now you're a sophomore in high school. It's a lot harder than it looks. You haven't gone to school in two years, which means you have a lot to catch up on. But you met Sam in the "special" after-school class, so it was worth it. Sam is your best friend; all blue hair and eyeliner. She's probably the only friend you've ever had. You wonder why she hangs out with you, when the others laugh and push you around. Sam even chooses you over her quarterback boyfriend sometimes. You’re pretty sure he hates you. 

You know that your teachers can see the bruises, welts, and bandages. You also know that they feel uneasy around you. On Tuesdays, you see Lucy, your councilor. She asks you all these questions, and it’s not like you don’t trust her, but dad told you that your life is a secret place, that only one special person in your heart should know about it. So you lie to Lucy whenever she asks who hits you. You tell her that it’s just from sports. Later, to prove that point, you joined the soccer team. It’s pretty fun, and a good excuse. You skin your knees and get plenty of bruises from the sport. Lucy can tell when you lie though, and it seems like she pities you a lot. You don’t blame her. Sometimes you wonder who this special person will be, if anyone. You don’t think you’ll find them anytime soon.

For your sixteenth birthday, Sam bought you a laptop. Your dad tried to take it from you, but you bit his finger hard enough to get him to stop bothering you about it. He still complains from time to time, but you ignore him. Dad got a job at a workshop downtown, so he isn’t home half of the time. You keep your jobs though, because most of his money goes to alcohol and cigarettes. You love your laptop. Who knew internet would be so lovely? Along with this came a whole new life, online. You got an email, a blog, other things. You avoid facebook though. People online actually like you! The thought is an absolute comfort, even when you’re down. While you’re online one day, Sam sends you a link through skype. The link takes you to a funny site. That’s when you downloaded OFF. You don’t play it often, but whenever you’re home, you do. You fell in love with the game the second you started playing it. The concept, the characters, the color. It was as if someone plucked your feelings out of you and put them inside a pixel game. You like Zacharie a lot, but Batter the most.

On your seventeenth birthday, dad came home and did the worst things he’s ever done to you. You had to take a week off of school to recover. Now, sometimes it hurts really bad to sit down. You think it’s because your hip bone never healed properly. That was the day you felt something change inside you. You weren’t so nice anymore. You started smoking cigarettes and cursing like a sailor. Sam didn’t stop being your friend though. If anything, you and her got closer. You went to her house for the weekend and she tried to kiss you. That was when you realized that you weren’t into girls. Sam laughed it off, and then created you an account on eHarmony. You never check it. You didn’t tell dad that you’re not into girls anymore, because that would be dangerous. Sam tries to set you up with boys now, but no one really likes you at your school. Actually, it just made the bullying worse. You don’t think you’ve heard the word “fag” enough. 

Over time, you seemed to start talking to your laptop. It’s really weird, and you don’t tell anyone. You think the characters in your little game are real. Sometimes you believe that they watch you, maybe even worry. Especially Batter. You like to think that one day he’ll slip out of your laptop and save you. Boys at school like to beat you up, but Sam intervenes most of the time. You started going to the gym after school. It took a while, but now you’re the one beating them. Dad doesn’t really mind, as long as he gets his fill when you get home.  
Sometimes, you wonder if he’ll kill you.  
After more thought, you hope he does eventually.

You’ve just walked out of algebra and Sam runs over, a foot and six inches taller than you. God, you’re so fucking short. She grins and says, “Aye Mickie, you want to have some fun for once?” You look at her and frown. “What do you mean?” She elbows you and motions with her eyes to a boy across the hall. He’s got black hair and blue eyes. You smile without realizing it, and Sam laughs. “Okay; that settles it. We’re going to this party that that boy is hosting.” You don’t really object. You skip going home and hitchhike with Sam to her house to get ready. Not like you really needed to. At 9, Sam drives you out to the suburbs, where this kid’s party is. He notices you quickly, and seems to like you, despite your cursing and height. You think he’s just faking it, though. No one would ever like you. After several drinks and more than a few cigarettes, the boy, Max, takes you up to his room. He, uh, rapes you. It’s something you don’t like to think about.  
Sam never tries to set you up with anyone ever again.  
That wasn’t the worst part. It was when you got home, when dad picked up a baseball bat, that was the worst part. That night, hiding behind your bed, you wished more than ever that you were dead. You mumbled it all night, wishing as hard as you could.  
Of course, God would never be so kind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this is so short. it looked longer in Word. i apologize for the short length! forgive me.

When you saw the player for the first time, you didn't feel anything. It was just another game; another being sent to control you, to make you walk through a world that wasn't real. None of it was true, after all. You didn't really kill anyone; the game the player played was not the game you lived in. Once the screen in the sky went dark, you were free to walk around the dull pixilated world. You could talk to the others there, everyone. You usually only spoke to Zacharie, though. Something funny in your chest hurt when you spent too much time with anyone else. Guilt, perhaps. For killing them, even though they simply relocate to a different area after the player 'defeats' them.

For a long time, you hate the player. You despised the strings that caught on your skin and forced you on a bloodstained path in which you were merely a marionette. You wanted nothing more than to find a way to cut the strings. You were created to be controlled, and at first, you really didn't like the idea.

Overtime, your views changed. 

Maybe it was the way the player's eyes lit up whenever he opened to the home screen. Maybe it was the little comments he would leave whenever you killed a spectre or said some memorized monologue.  Perhaps, it was the way he spoke directly to you some days, calling you his 'favorite'. Yes, that was probably it.

The longer you were confined to this home with the player, the more concerned you became. He never smiled. When he was doing something else on this laptop, he looked so...hollow. His eyes lost their light, and his fingers would shake. At night, you could hear him cry. Zacharie confessed that he was also nervous and worried for the wellbeing of this human. It wasn't until later that you heard the screaming. Even with the lid closed and the laptop shut down, you could hear. You could hear the screaming, the slamming, the noises that were not human. They made you cry, made you want to claw out of the screen and hold him and tell him he was safe. but, _safe from what?_ You could not see, only hear. What made him cry like that? What made him lie awake at night, praying for death? You wished to know. You assumed it was his father, the vicious man that often came in from the corner of the little window in the sky, cursing with a cigarette in his mouth. You didn't like this man. He made you feel uneasy. If it _was_ him... You were going to tear him apart.

 

Zacharie came to you one night, his voice shaky. He told you that the player had been badly hurt. He told you..that it was the father. That he came into the room and hit the player.. with a _bat_. With a baseball bat. You felt your stomach lurch into your throat and you turned away, sick with rage. You couldn't believe that someone so wonderful would be treated like this. It burned in your chest. You wished more than ever that you could find a way to rescue him. Save him. Love him.

 

 

A couple months later, you were walking along the orange path of the sugar factory. You were wandering, really. Your eyes flickered to the screen often, but it remained black each time you looked. You were climbing up the endless ladder when a thought occurred to you. You looked over to the smaller chimney, the one that had no ladder. You figured you would find out where it leads you. You feel stupid for having never discovered it sooner. You climbed the ladder until you were a good three feet higher than the entrance of the second tunnel. You paused, breathed, and then launched yourself to the side. Stupid. You miscounted the distance and you hit your left leg hard on the lip of the tunnel as you flew past it. You hit the ground with a sick thud. Everything became a blur and you stayed that way for a good hour. You didn't open your eyes until the nausea went away. Then you slowly climbed back up. Your leg felt like it was on fire. You halt at the same place, then climb about a foot higher. You look at the entrance of the chimney for a while, then close your eyes. Your bat as tucked uncomfortably under your arm.  You open your eyes and launch off of the ladder again. This time, you barely make it into the open mouth of the tunnel, almost losing your hat along the way. Instantly you are engulfed in darkness. You almost expect rings to appear, but you remind yourself that the game wasn't active right now. You have a brief thought that it was like the other tunnel, and you were falling to your death.

Time seems to disappear and you feel like you must be trapped here. Suddenly, the air gets freezing and you such in a breath, pain in your lungs. Before you can recover, you hit something hard and the world goes black.

You hazily acknowledge the scent of cigarettes and alcohol.  Your head is pounding and you taste blood in your mouth. You open your eyes and then shut them again, you can't see a thing. You blink several times. You feel sick. Slowly, your eyes adjust to the darkly lit room. Everything looks so clear..nothing like pixels. You look at your hand and stifle a gasp. It was so clear! White skin, black fingernails. Small wrinkles in between your knuckles. You smile. None of these things existed in the game. Your clothing, your hair, you could _feel_ so much! You wonder where you are. This couldn't be the game, there was no way. You raise your eyes again and recognition hits you like a blow to the stomach. You _knew_ this room.    This was the Player's room.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batteur adjusts to his new reality. The Player wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI it's been a really long time. I don't even really write anymore and 99% of what's on here i'm extremely ashamed of. I write with a new name now though, so if u want more recent works my other username is "Sinner69".  
> Anyway. I really like this story and want to keep writing it. but i obviously need to adjust some things because i'm older and wiser now and i'm better than this. So i've made some adjustments to the story, i hope you don't mind.  
> 1: The player (Mick) is transgender, and nonbinary. (uses they or he pronouns.)  
> 2: The player is 18 an no younger, bc Batteur is an adult and if there's gonna be romance it's not gonna be with children.  
> 3: This makes them more likely to be a senior in highschool/about to go to college.
> 
> I know that messes up some stuff in previous chapters but. i was dumb then and thought alot of things were okay that aren't now. It's good to flesh out characters and make stories better, yeah? OK. i love the batter and i want to keep writing with him, and about him.  
> I hope you can enjoy the new works, please give me comments or tell me what you think !

The player’s room. 

    How did you get here? How did it come together; the abandoned chimney was a portal somehow? You knew Zacharie had more power than he let on, but did he know about this? Zacharie...that prick. He could flip a switch and go into other games; he held some sort of key, was some sort of guardian. You knew this, but you had no idea something like...this could happen. It’s been taking your eyes a while to adjust to the darkness, so you take the extra time to let it all sink in.

    Right. You jumped into the chimney expecting death, and somehow, through some sort of glitch or perhaps some game of Zacharie’s design, you’ve somewhat successfully left your game and materialized in the player’s dimension. That made sense, right? Something like a scoff rumbles in your throat and it startles you in the thick silence. No, it didn’t make sense. Thinking about it....Zacharie probably does this, or has done this. Gone into other games, platforms...dimensions. Perhaps he simply forgot, or didn’t know, how to get into this one. Otherwise….Wouldn’t he have told you how to get to the player? Yes. As sleazy as the little man was, you knew he cared for Mick as much as you did. Your hand tingles and you notice your fingers have been absently rubbing against what you assume is the carpet, or a rug. It feels rough against your calloused fingertips. Your senses seem heightened and snuffed at the same time.

    You snap back into focus when the sound of rustling gets your attention. Having been sitting here for a while now, your eyes have finally adjusted, and you can see fairly well, actually. The room is rather small, smaller than it seemed in-game. Your back is against a dresser, you think, and your legs are brushing the side of a mattress. Your heart freezes in your chest when you realize once again that this is the player’s room. Their room. Then….the lump on the bed….under the violet blanket wrapped tightly…that must be the player. Mick…

Suddenly you wish you had those strings again, because now nothing is scripted and you’re not sure what to do.

You notice that you’re trembling, how stupid of you. Was it excitement? Were you overwhelmed? Maybe you’re dead; maybe the tunnel did end and the fall killed you. Or you’re knocked out and Zacharie is drawing on your face and giggling like an idiot. This couldn’t be real, it still didn’t make much sense. 

The lump shifts again and you nearly hit the back of your head on the dresser, you tense up so suddenly.

Right.

    Regardless of the circumstance, or whatever is real, you’re currently in a shockingly high definition reality, in someone’s room. You. A giant man with four eyes, literal white skin, and sharp teeth nearly poking from your lips. Unless this reality harbored aliens or mutants, you didn’t think anyone else here would look quite like you. You’re not an expert on interspecies contact, but you’re pretty sure that being exposed wouldn’t be the best idea. You sigh out a breath; sounds from your body are still surprising you, and you gently put down the bat you’ve had tucked under your arm, still uncomfortably, this whole time. Your left arm is a bit cramped now. The wood feels wonderful on your fingers and in your palm, the perfect balance between rough and smooth. You make a note to touch things, a lot of things, once you know this place is safe and that the lump in that bed is indeed the player and not some other poor sap.

The player...your chest aches just thinking about them. You’re not sure, still, how to handle this situation, but it seemed like somehow, your yearnings have come true. They, who had led you, controlled you, guided you, for so long. They, who had connected to you, trusted you, told you everything. They were right here, in this room, and you were too. Physically. Right.

    A sharp buzz breaks the silence and a light fills the room; it’s dull like a firefly, casting soft shadows and blurred edges. You think it's Mick's phone, buzzing on their nightstand a few feet away from you. But the sound surprises you so suddenly that this time you do hit your head, hard enough to make you hiss, a sharp, gurgling kind of purr between your lips and fangs. You grimace as the pain crackles all over your scalp. It feels a lot more real than getting hit in the game, and in your distraction, you fail to notice a figurine lose it balance and tumble off of the dresser, hitting the floor with a thud. You tense up at this too, your eyes shooting open as you glare at the little plastic thing at your feet. It's vaguely in the shape of a cat, little yellow eyes looking innocently up at you. A thousand worries, horrors, and curses fill your head at once.

If you hitting your head didn’t do it, the figurine finished the deal. The lump flinched sharply and something like a wheeze came from the bed. Slowly, but in a panicked and frightened way, the lump sat up and straightened out faster than you can process it.

There they were, in their full glory. 

   Mick is glancing wildly around the room, their eyes not adjusted to the darkness. You can hear their heart beating wildly. They grip the edge of the mattress in one hand and their stuffed wolf in the other, chest visibly rising and falling with their breaths. You feel ridiculous, pitiful, and overjoyed all at once. You should be saying something, doing something. Assessing the situation. It's Mick! The player! _Your_ player! You’re frozen in place, which angers you, and you don’t know what to say. You’re stunned, quite literally. Time feels broken as you sit there, a giant man cramped in the space between their bed, doing nothing but waiting for the inevitable. The player blinks slowly and sighs, looking weary, sad, and plenty anxious. Then, their eyes finally rest on your large white form, the brightest thing in the monotone shadows of the dark room. They don’t say anything, but their eyes grow wide like moons. Something like happiness or relief washes over their face, and they laugh, like it's every day they see something like you. Their voice is groggy, but not unkind, just like it's always been.

“Another wet dream?”


	4. Chapter 4

You woke up so fucking terrified. It had been a while since dad tried anything with you, but that was mostly because you kept working out and you were getting strong enough to hold him off. Unless he got some kind of weapon, but usually he would be out of breath and just sort of give up if you fought hard. It made you proud, finally being able to fend for yourself. But now you’re afraid, horrified, that he’s up sleepwalking or something, or maybe he just wants a fuck, and your heart feels like it’s gonna pound of out your chest. It’s dark, and your vision is blurry. You didn’t exactly sleep well. You stay like this, tense and scared, for a good minute or too. The door doesn’t open, there’s no screaming and no hitting. Sighing out a breath, you tentatively reach for your phone, hoping not to jinx it. You think that’s what woke you up? Some kind of sound...It’s a text from Sam, something stupid like ‘ooh im so drunk holy fuckkk’. You’re temporarily blinded by the bright screen, and that doesn’t help your blurred vision. You put down your phone and the room gets dark again.   
It’s like 5 am and she’s probably at some party drunk off her ass. You hope you won’t have to go pick her up, which makes you feel a bit guilty. You just didn’t really feel like putting on shoes and revving up your shitty car to hunt her down in some abandoned house or something. You stare sleepily at the vague lump on your dresser, waiting to see if she’ll text again. After a minute or two you sigh and sink into bed again, hoping you’ll be able to fall asleep again. There’s a slight shift in the corner of your eye and at first you almost write it off and roll over. You didn’t fucking care what it was, it could wait till morning. But your eyes pop open before you can ignore it, and the blur becomes a shape right by the foot of your bed, startlingly close to you.  
What the fuck?  
So maybe you’re hallucinating again, or you’re dreaming. The familiar shape; the striped jersey and black pants; the red eyes peeking from under a black brimmed hat.   
The comforting attributes of The Batteur, your most treasured and favorite person in the world. Except he was fictional, so there’s no way this was real.  
For a second your body feels a bit warmer and your legs tense. Maybe it was another one of those every-month dreams, the kind where the stoic man creeps over you so tenderly, cupping your face, kissing your skin, easing inside of you. Sex you never thought you’d feel, so soft, gentle, so good. Even if they were just dreams, you yearned for them, not just because it was hot, but because you really...wanted that. Affection and attention, eyes on you like you’re the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. A distraction from the constant terror of your real life.  
The figment of Batteur blinks at you, slowly, with all four eyes, and it distracts you from your tangled thoughts. You feel yourself smile without really trying, nervous and tentative. “So uh….it’s a dream, right…? Is this the part where I uh, lean back and pull up my shirt?” You’re not sure why you’re talking, or why he hasn’t moved yet. The dream is always the same, with tiny differences, like sometimes you’re wearing purple instead of blue or Batteur isn’t wearing his hat. But right now, things aren’t really going to plan. The purifier makes a face at you that you don’t expect. He furrows his brow and frowns, tensing up a bit. You watch his hands curl over the rug by your bed and take notice of his black painted nails.   
That’s new. You start to panic a little bit inside; this isn’t like the other dreams. Was this a nightmare? A hallucination? You laugh awkwardly because he didn’t answer you and he still hasn’t moved. “Ah, yeah, right. Okay forget I said that. Uh. I…Batteur…?” You grip your blanket and glance away from him, biting your lip. “This is..a dream, isn’t it? It has to be…”  
“...I am not sure, Puppeteer. But...I don’t think so.”  
His voice isn’t what you expected it to be. Or well, it isn’t like the dreams. His voice is always kinda hazy in your dreams, deep like melted chocolate but distant. Now, it comes out not as deep as you thought, more like the ocean, waves rolling and washing over you. It’s softer, too; a moth’s wings kissing your lips. His response makes you look at him, and now it’s your turn to frown and furrow. That didn’t make sense. It wasn’t a dream? You reach over and pinch your arm, flinching and whispering ‘fuck!’ when it stings and spreads over your upper arm. Okay. Maybe you’re dead. Maybe dad beat your head in last night and Batteur is the angel coming to take you to the afterlife.   
“So it’s not a dream…,” You whisper to yourself mostly, looking at your lap, opening and closing your hands that have balled into fists.  
“Puppeteer…” He shuffles a bit, his frown softening. He’s been staring at you this whole time. “...Can I touch you?”  
His voice surprises you, as much as his question. You raise your eyebrows and your awkward smile falters . He wants to touch you? Shit, this was real wasn’t it. You manage to nod, not taking your eyes off of him. He sits up, suddenly getting a lot bigger and taller. He gets more beautiful and real the closer he leans in, taking your breath away. His first set of eyes are bigger than the second set, nestled in his cheekbones and slightly folded by the skin in between. Red sclera and small white pupils. He sighs out a breath, the first time you’ve noticed him breathe since you woke up. His hand comes up before you realize it, and when his skin touches you, you flinch and hold your breath. His hand is cold, fingers calloused and it doesn’t feel bad against your cheek like you thought it might. He seems just as surprised, his eyes widening a bit as he presses his hand gently against your cheek.  
God, this is fucking real, isn’t it. A smile slowly spreads across Batteur’s features, making something tingle inside. He was so comforting. He was literally your angel. You didn’t know how, it didn’t make sense, but it felt so real. He was here. Touching you. You don’t notice thick tears falling on the blanket bunched in your lap, streaming down before you can stop them. “You are even more beautiful up close,” He whispers, rubbing his thumb gently, so lovingly over your cheekbone. Then he slowly pulls you to him, and your face is pressed into rough striped fabric. You don’t even care though, squishing your face into his chest as his solid, strong arms wrap around you. You can tell he’s being gentle and it’s all so overwhelming. You melt into his arms and sob, clinging to him like he’ll disappear any second now. It’s gotta be a dream, and soon you’ll wake up. “I’ve found you finally, Mick..” He keeps mumbling things into your hair, so soft and quiet in a voice you didn’t expect, and when he says your name your crying starts up all over again. If this was a dream, it was fucking cruel.


End file.
